Free The Girl in the Polka Dot Dress by Beryl Bainbridge Page B

difficult childhood,’ blurted Rose. ‘I was saved by Dr. Wheeler. He sorted me out.’
    â€˜Lucky you,’ Mirabella said.
    â€˜Would you mind,’ Rose asked, ‘if I stretched my legs?’ She was moving towards the door as she spoke.
    â€˜Best leave Harold alone,’ Mirabella said. ‘He’s gone to look for his wife.’
    Startled, Rose stared at her. ‘His wife?’ she repeated.
    â€˜Didn’t he tell you?’ Mirabella put aside the coffee jar and, taking Rose by the elbow, steered her to the table. She stood looking down at her, tugging at the plaster on her finger.
    Rose said, ‘He never mentioned he was married. Nobody did.’
    â€˜Men always keep things to themselves,’ Mirabella told her. ‘You shouldn’t take it to heart.’
    â€˜I don’t,’ cried Rose. ‘I just don’t understand why he didn’t tell me he was coming here to see his wife. Where is she?’
    â€˜Flat on her back,’ Mirabella said, waving a damaged finger in the direction of the windows. ‘Six foot under.’
    The explanation that followed was brief and to the point. The wife, who was called Dollie, had fallen for another man. She had left Harold to be with him, but after twelve months he’d grown tired of her. She was an intelligent woman and should have known what she was getting herself into. ‘It wasn’t the first time she’d strayed,’ Mirabella said, eyes glittering. ‘She had a fling with Shaefer, but that was only sex.’
    â€˜Did Harold find out?’
    â€˜God, no. He thinks the world of Jesse. Anyway, Dollie came back to Wanakena and drowned in the lake beyond the trees. It was referred to as an accident, though some of the newspapers hinted at suicide. It was hushed up so that she could have a proper funeral. Suicides can’t be put in consecrated ground.’
    â€˜Why here?’ asked Rose.
    â€˜It’s where they spent their honeymoon. I lent them the house.’
    â€˜I once told my teacher,’ said Rose, ‘that my mother had killed herself. It was a lie. I’d been off school for a week because of trouble at home and I sort of hinted that my mother had gone. Miss Albright took me into the staff room. I felt daft because outside the window Rita Dickens and her cronies in the fourth form were pulling out leaves they’d stuffed up their knickers . . . they were playing at having babies.’
    â€˜How inventive,’ said Mirabella.
    â€˜I only meant Mother had gone away, but Miss Albright thought I meant really gone . . . gone forever. Her eyes were all glittery.’
    Mirabella was smiling again.
    â€˜I need to go outside,’ Rose told her, ‘to think things over. I promise I won’t search for Harold.’
    Once down the steps she was engulfed in shadows. It was as though she was small again, hurrying to meet Dr. Wheeler in the green gloom. Ahead of her, patchy beneath the darkening heavens, she glimpsed the grey outline of that terrible lake.
    Dr. Wheeler was puffing on a cigarette. Gazing upwards, he said the smoke mingled with the presence of those who had once lived. They were standing in front of the tombstone of Mary Eldridge, mother of two children, Ella and Robert, expired from fever, June 5th, 1868. She said she expected the children had cried a lot, even though Mrs Eldridge may not have been a good mother, at which he accused her of thinking of her own parents and always unkindly. None of us, he chided, can know how our actions affect other people, not until it’s too late, nor blame others for our own mistakes.
    The trees were so thick that the iron gate into the graveyard was partially hidden. Rose had difficulty in pushing it open. There was no church to be seen, simply row upon row of gravestones tilting forward on a march towards heaven. The racket of birds in the branches above was discordant enough to waken the dead.
    She felt